


Hope for the Stars

by colorofmymind



Series: The Doctor Falls [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Change in POV between Chapters, Coping with Death, Corpses, F/M, Funeral, Grieving Missy, Heavy Angst, Messy Feelings, POV Missy (Doctor Who), POV Ohila (Doctor Who), Twelve is very dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorofmymind/pseuds/colorofmymind
Summary: A final goodbye between the oldest friends in the universe seems as though it's the last chapter. But with the Doctor, every end comes with a beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for being so patient with this update, but I did fulfill my promise and get this done within a month! *pats myself on the back*. Anyways, it would probably help if you read Could We Start Again, Please especially (and Irresistible if you like but it's not necessary) to understand the context of this story and why Missy is alive while the Doctor is dead. Spoiler alert: Twelve is not being resurrected, he's gone for good, so if you're reading for that you've got the wrong story. This is an exploration if Missy had been able to become good on her own terms and how she fares with the Doctor's legacy when the Doctor is no more. The next chapter will at the very latest be posted by next month. Kudos and comments will be appreciated!

The silence is deafening, save for the intermittent low hums of the TARDIS. Her hands drift and glide over the console as she circles round it, making no effort to start for any destination. A destination would require a plan. Missy has none.

What was the original plan, exactly? Redeem herself in everyone’s eyes, and then? No more tentative friendship. Renew their pact. Midnight, with the stars and him. It had been absolutely too vague, almost totally meaningless. And yet it was _something_. Now, there is nothing, no friend, without hope, without witness.

“Without reward, indeed,” Missy chokes out, voice hoarse from disuse and grief, realizing now she never precisely knew what that meant until this moment. Her death at least would have allowed her to escape from the shallow, crude reality of it all. Missy makes the mistake of looking down at the Doctor’s lifeless body. The sight alone is enough for her hands to tremor, knees to buckle, eyes to water and weep openly, now that the privacy allows for it. It takes much more time than she’d like to find the lapels of his jacket, fisting them in her hands for purchase. It doesn’t do much other than prevent her from strangling him, or herself.

“You absolute imbecile!” she cries out, venom behind each word. “I would have stayed here, the Vault, anywhere you would have liked for the rest of those thousand years! Two thousand even. You’d be there at least. You’d be alive.

But we were always so impatient, weren’t we? We couldn’t keep to the confines of Gallifrey or the Vault. We just wanted the universe. I wanted you.” Those last three words fall out her mouth without her permission, and she knows full well what she communicated with them. The humans always wait, desperate for that confession, that one word: _love_. There isn’t even a comparable translation for it in Gallifreyan; what is the need of such a word to Time Lords? Time Lords are supposed to have two hearts that are full of nothing.   

She wants to rip her hearts right out of her chest, stamp them into mincemeat under her boots, and wail with the confidence and indignity of a newborn babe until she keels over. Or maybe she could cut her hearts out, carefully, scientifically, and transplant them into the Doctor, make him breathe, live again; he could cry over her body, but at least that’d be familiar for the both of them.

_Death is for other people, dear._ Missy said that, once. She never dreamt that the Doctor would number among the others.

The grip she has on him slackens. With complete gracelessness and depravity, Missy collapses on top of him, her chest on his, face burying into the crook of his neck. The endless propulsion of loss and guilt wracks her body; the tears flow out as quickly as the notes to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor K. 466 - 1. Allegro, one of the Doctor’s favorites that she used to play on the piano. The piano he gifted to her. Missy cannot form words even if she tries. So heavy is this sense of finality, and she’s drowning under it. Her friend is dead. Time levels and undulates and then ceases to be around them, and all Missy is aware of is the uncontrollable shaking and the gasping and crying like she’s being gutted from the inside out for existing at all and the fact that he’s gone, gone, _gone forever and she’s the only one left_...

It’s some time later that Missy finally awakens next to the Doctor, colder than he’s ever been. It’s not really him, she reminds herself. His essence, the playful and wonderful mind, they’re gone. Could she reclaim them, she would. She should, really. It’s the least she can do when this whole monumentally stupid test to prove herself was the very reason they had found themselves in that disaster, created by her former self, no less. Resurrection has its risks though, this she knows. The potential for a miscalculation or chemical imbalance is extremely high, and his entire body could irrevocably malform; of course the safer alternative, transferring the consciousness into a living host, is something the Doctor would have never even entertained whereas the Master had, ever so frequently when in a tight spot, regrettable now in retrospect.

The stinging pain in her back and abdomen from the Laser Screwdriver has lessened slightly with her rest, but her eyes feel terribly sore and dry from what was probably the greatest lapse into emotional breakdown of her life. There are no more tears to cry, now. Missy picks herself up, squeezing the Doctor’s hand before standing only to find it has become extremely stiff with the onset of rigor mortis. The realization leaves her nauseous and quite wishing she hadn’t done that.   

That does bring up the present dilemma. What to do with his body. A Time Lord’s body, particularly the DNA, would be a precious asset to almost any alien species. Burial and cryogenic freezing are right out then. The Doctor will have to burn.  

Somehow, she still manages to hobble over to the TARDIS console with that thought on her mind, pulling on the levers and buttons by mere muscle memory. Already, Missy has the perfect idea for the location for the Doctor’s funeral, a strange thing to be sentimental about, but if he were still part of the universe, she thinks he would appreciate it.  

“I’m almost certain you never prepared for this, my dear,” Missy begins, completely aware that the Doctor can no longer hear or respond to her. “I’m not talking about death, no, you practically begged for it when you were feeling particularly morose. What comes after is what I mean. Did you really think you could lie on a battlefield and that just be the end? It should take no more than a few centuries for a human exploratory crew or some other ship to find you with all your DNA and unleash terror on the universe. That just won’t do, not when you’ve put so much work into the place.”

The whole monologue was meant to calm her down, but she’s made an all too rational point. This is a universe without the Doctor, and it has been such a very long time since that was the reality. What will happen now, without that man roaming the stars, trying to bring kindness and goodness to the places and people he visits? _As flawed as he could be while doing it,_ a small voice inside her offers.    

_“Because one day everyone's just going to need you too much.”_ Bill was right. The universe will never survive without the Doctor.

The TARDIS hums somewhat admonishingly, and suddenly the psychic link is made between her and the ship, and a flurry of images and memories are the sole occupiers of her thoughts: the TARDIS landing unannounced and needing help for some unknown reason, Missy’s constant maintenance of the TARDIS, Missy trying to find a way out of the TARDIS doors to help the Doctor and his companions when he was about to sacrifice himself to the Cairn gate, and the moment she stepped out of those same doors declaring confidently _“Hello I’m Doctor Who.”_

Oh. _Oh_.

Missy smiles and tuts quietly at the now reicent sentient machine. Being, she corrects herself mentally. After, she and this Type 40 are going to have to get along if this is to work.

“You knew well before any of us, didn’t you? Oh, you clever girl,” she purrs.

The ship creaks and groans upon arriving to their destination. In all fairness, this is the most hectic point in time and space besides the literal end of the universe, and Missy’s been there before. Placing the stabilizers on as a precaution, Missy retreats down one of the corridors, hoping she’ll find what she’s looking for.

“Ah, there you are,” she says upon finding it. The casket’s exterior shines just as brightly as the wood from whence it came: the silver trees of Gallifrey. Adorning the side panels are the traditional Gallifreyan rites for the deceased. Measurements in this case are not necessary; Time Lord technology has once again thought ahead to accomodate for any particular regeneration--the dimensions are bigger on the inside. It’s a difficult task for someone of her stature and injured status to not drag the damned thing on the console flooring, but she manages it for the Doctor’s sake alone.

Upon placing the casket next to him, however, she cannot seem to find the strength in the moment to lift him into it and send him away for good. A hand of hers secures itself on one of the handles on the console to ascertain that she does not collapse again.

“Well, this is it then. Me, Missy, your oldest friend, assisting you with your death. Goodbye, effectively for the two of us. What am I even saying,” she finishes under her breath, beginning the process of lifting the Doctor’s body into the casket. For appearances’ sake, she brushes off the lingering dust and debris off his coat and trousers and face, though it won’t matter for much longer. No one else besides her will be viewing him, and he’ll be crisper in just a few minutes than she ever was back in the old days. From underneath the console, Missy locates four hover discs, placing one at each end of the casket to ensure his departure is as seamless as possible. For some inexplicable reason, she is unable to close the casket lid. There is something she must say first.

“We made a pact once, you and I. We were going to see the stars together and abandon all the trivial troubles of Gallifrey. But something went wrong in the plans. We went on separate paths. Well, you went on your own path, and I followed you. I followed you _everywhere_ I could,” Missy confesses, tangling her fingers in her Doctor’s curls. “In some ways, I wish...I wish I hadn’t woken up from that shot, the one I should have died from. We both could have been dead martyrs together. Wouldn’t that have been nice? But I understand now why I couldn’t...join you. I never got the chance to, did I?” Her voice escapes her for several moments, and she blinks away the forthcoming tears she previously didn’t know she still had.

“Standing with you...was all I ever wanted, too. Thank you, Doctor, for trying. It worked. I am standing for something now, after this and evermore, and I’m sure it will kill me someday, for good.” Missy pauses to collect herself. If she’s giving him a closing testimony she’s making sure it’s a damn good one.

“This is the last chance you have to announce you’ve miraculously survived before I send you off into Dante’s Inferno, just so you know.” The silence that follows is answer enough to her request.

“It actually isn’t Dante’s Inferno. That place isn’t real. You wanted the stars, so I brought you to them. Every single one.”  

In a few quick steps, Missy is able to pull the doors open, revealing that they have indeed reached the intended destination. Gas clouds are just beginning to circulate and weave their ways, nebulas are brewing stars within their wombs, and galaxies expand their territory among the vast devoidness of empty space. The constellation of Kasterborous is just a few hundred million light-years away from forming.

“It isn’t _the_ moment, not the singularity that started it all. Although, it’s reasonable enough to presume you’ve already been there. We’ve entered the structure formation period of the Big Bang, when stars began existing,” she explains.

“No star ever existed before this point or would be able to exist without this moment. Your casket will fly into one of those stars and burn with its light and passion, and your atoms be dispersed all around the universe and help bring life to all of creation. I think without a doubt this is the best surprise party I’ve ever thrown for you,” Missy claims, placing her hands on her hips with a certain sense of self-satisfaction in this truly bizarre and dizzying ceremony.

The casket hovers just by the TARDIS doors. All she has to do is guide it out, and discs will direct it over to that red dwarf star, his final resting place. With a certain solemnity and poise Missy has never reserved for anyone in her lives, she seals the casket shut.

In a whisper, hushed so only the infant forces of the universe behind the two of them can hear, she gives the Doctor her final farewell.

“ _Goodnight, my dear friend_.”   


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohila and other parties have become suspicious about the Doctor’s whereabouts. They investigate and come to a startling conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging on for the ride for so long guys! I've really enjoyed writing this. I have at least a few more Doctor Who ideas up my sleeve, some for Twissy, so stayed tuned! Kudos and comments would be very much appreciated!

Even Ohila can admit to herself these days that she grows weary with involving herself in the personal politics of Time Lords, particularly of one who travels in a TARDIS disguised as a police phone box from Earth circa 1963 CE. Still, she and the Sisterhood of Karn are the only conduit through which the High Council has any presence in this universe. And this summons must be answered.

A rumor has been floating around of late, entailing the heroics of a mysterious lone traveler running about on planets, starships, desolate wastelands answering distress calls of the most extreme and dire nature. The distress calls no one would dare answer, save for the Doctor. The description of the time-space interdimensional capsule spotted by the locals matches that of his TARDIS, but this individual they speak of...should the accounts be true, this means the universe is in more peril than ever before.

Ohila’s present task is to verify whether or not the Doctor is still in possession of his vessel or if someone else has commandeered it. Whoever this TARDIS pilot is has been eagerly responsive to distress calls, so theoretically such a call for help to the surface of Karn should suit Ohila’s purposes quite well.

The precision is something Ohila notes to herself. Within just a few hours of the sending of the distress signal, the TARDIS arrives on planet’s surface. Her sisters stand guard in front of the cave leading to the Sacred Flame while Ohila conceals herself behind one of the many large rock formations.

Out of those doors appears one of the High Council’s most feared suspects in this case. Ohila has met her once in passing, when the Doctor had requested she deliver his Confession Dial to his closest friend: the Mistress, formerly known as the Master. Despite having a reputation for burning through bodies the quickest out of any Time Lord, the Mistress has retained the form Ohila last saw her in. The Time Lady is still dressed in what would be considered high-fashion in Earth’s Victorian era: a refined straw hat with ribbon and feathers protruding off the top tilts towards the right of her face, a well-fit violet evening gown overlaid by a similarly colored overcoat, and black leather boats that kick up the dust on Karn’s surface with the Mistress’s every step.

“Oh Sisterhood? Of the planet Karn? What do you lot call yourselves nowadays? Still Gallifreyans? Or has there been an upgrade? _Karn_ ivores, perhaps?” The Mistress stops and giggles to herself, invoking some humorous mood that Ohila does not share.

She continues on, unabated. “Admittedly, I was surprised by your call—”

“Were you, Mistress?” Ohila remarks more than asks as she steps out of her hiding place. The time has come for answers, now that she knows half of the truth.

The Mistress widens her eyes at Ohila, not in surprise but interest. Extending her right arm forward, the Mistress points an umbrella in the air, a whirring noise accompanying the motion. Sonic technology.

“My name not is _the Mistress_ , it’s Missy,” the Time Lady states as she lowers her umbrella to her side. “And I suppose I should have known that your distress call was fake. The Sisterhood of Karn is never under threat from any species, unless some stupid person gets the bright idea of stealing your Elixir of Life and thinks they can match you.”  

Ohila acknowledges along with a nod, “You would be correct.”

The Time Lady stiffens her posture and rests both hands on her umbrella handle while flashing a truly delicately put-upon smile. “What is it you want then, anyway?”

“We already have discovered what we wanted. We now know that you have stolen the Doctor’s TARDIS,” Ohila answered.

The smile quickly sours. “Wait, wait, you think I stole this?”

Ohila simply arches an eyebrow.

“ _Alright,_ I’ll admit I’ve had a certain history involving theft of the Doctor’s property. But I can assure you that this was...passed onto me. To be more accurate, she’s chosen me.” 

“Who has?”

“The TARDIS of course, why are Gallifreyans such numpties about their own tech?” Missy huffs, assumingly rhetorically. “She’s sentient. She called out to me for assistance before I even knew what was about to happen, but she was trying to tell me I was, and now am, her Plan B to freely traveling the universe as she once did with the Doctor.”

Ohila dismisses this all as lies and trickery characteristic of the Time Lady. She resumes her questioning, while discreetly signaling her sisters. “What have you done with the Doctor? Why have you been answering the cries of help from the universe in his stead? To impersonate him and gain the trust of whole worlds, only to eventually conquer them?”

“No!” Missy cries out somewhat desperately and defensively. “You don’t understand, that’s not what I’m doing...not anymore.”  

She appears to quickly recover from the lapse in demonstrating personal weakness, flipping right back to the irrational and inappropriate sense of humor upon which she seems to rely. “Although that would have been a good long game plan for when I was evil.”

“Was?” Ohila asks disbelievingly.

“Yes. I’ve turned over a new leaf, went cold turkey, made a new millenium resolution, whatever you want to call it I’m—better than I was before. I am trying to help the universe now ‘in his stead’ because it’s what’s right. As to your other question, the Doctor is dead.”

Ohila is, for a singular minute, unable to process this information. Of course, after what the Doctor did on Gallifrey with displacing the human girl out of her timestream, Ohila did not want to see him for quite some time; he almost jeopardized the safety of the universe to end his self-centered guilt. Now he has fated them all to eternal subjugation to the most unstable of all renegades through the sheer act of his own death.

“You are responsible for his death,” Ohila eventually says rather than asks.  

The intense eye contact they share is finally disconnected when Missy casts her glance downward, in a manner that Ohila would consider guilty if she did not know better. Without warning, her gaze is again set upon Ohila, but it is haunted, sorrowful, and vindictive simultaneously.

“I suppose in a way I am. Thank you for reassuring me on that particular detail, I’ve always wondered,” Missy admits so quietly Ohila can barely discern the words. The Time Lady then stares off into the distant setting sun of Karn. In her distracted state, the sisterhood has successfully managed to surround the Doctor’s TARDIS. They have her right where they want her.

“You have confessed to stealing the Doctor’s TARDIS and being the architect of his death. These are already punishable offences in Time Lord society, but they will certainly be worse considering the Doctor’s legacy as a war hero to the High Council and greater Gallifreyan public. Transport shall be arranged for your extradition to Gallifrey where you will face an impending trial and sentence for your crimes.”

If Ohila was expecting to illicit a response of fear, she was mistaken. Missy’s body practically crumbles in onto itself while it pulses with her cackles and readily apparent humor. It is an unsettling sight for a planet typically so devoid of laughter or joy.

“Oh you’re serious? Honey, if the Time Lords wanted to punish me for my crimes, they would have done so _long_ before now. Or has the death of the Doctor touched such a nerve that they seek some sort of sanctimonious retribution?”

“They have relied on his aid for many centuries.”

“Well—tough!” The Time Lady suddenly exclaims with unforeseen rage. “They’ll just have to get used to the fact that _I’m_ helping the universe. Personally, I think it’s an upgrade.”

Ohila nevertheless persists. “You are so insistent on this narrative, and yet there is no feasible explanation present for why you of all beings would abruptly change your moral compass if not for a selfish ulterior motive.”

Missy sighs, loud and long. It is not difficult to irritate her, it would seem. “The motives and morals have changed, but the goal has not. Even when I was planning on conquering the universe, I always wanted universal peace, ultimately. The Doctor’s... _influence_ helped me correct my method.

I will admit that I haven’t been taking the same approach as he did. After all, we did have our differences. To start, if you’ve bothered to notice, there has been no haphazard rewriting of the timeline or bringing along human strays. I only help when asked for, I don’t need to save millions to stroke my ego, and I know how to fly and maintain the TARDIS better than he ever could.”

“You have a certain way of showing regret if you possess any,” she remarks accusingly.

“Oh _Ohila_ ,” Missy chimes in a higher pitch with an added sickly sweet tone oozing over the words. “I realize now why you’re in the High Council. Only a bunch of idiots sit up there delegating and twiddling their thumbs, passing judgment. You see, you’re quite mistaken. _I have more regrets than you can begin to count._ ”

The Time Lady turns on her heel, her skirts fanning out and flowing with her steps, and stalks over to the line of sisters encircling the TARDIS exterior.

“Where are you going?”

“Where I’m needed, which has been made abundantly clear to me is not here.”

Ohila calls out firmly, “You will not make it off this planet.”

Missy merely smirks, a dark twinkle dancing in her eyes. Ohila has never seen a face so befitting of a deranged, ungrounded predator. With a snap of Missy’s fingers, the TARDIS doors open, knocking two of Ohila’s sisters to the ground with the force. While the fellow sisters rush to their aid, Missy calmly steps around the commotion and frames herself in the doorway of the TARDIS.

“Since I have thoroughly satisfied your request for my presence, I have something for you to do for me now,” Missy demands, gaze inspired and dangerous like that of a daring revolutionary. “Pass along a little message to the dear gang back home. Tell them: if they want me, they’ll have to clasp me in irons first.”

The doors shut, and in a moment the blue box dematerializes and fades from view. The universe will be subject to change and, for the time being, that is all that Ohila is able to tell.


End file.
